


Swindle Me This

by red_b_rackham



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/M, Mild Language/Swearing, Mystery, Suspense, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-30
Updated: 2010-10-30
Packaged: 2017-10-28 15:09:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/309190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_b_rackham/pseuds/red_b_rackham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames wakes up in an old warehouse, faced with a former fling and her vengeful not-quite-ex. Can Eames get out before he's killed - or even worse, made penniless? (For the Writer's Anonymous Comfort Zone Challenge at FF.net.) Oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swindle Me This

**Author's Note:**

> Major thanks to my amazing beta, Orangey10, who has been invaluable and helped me make this story so, so much better! :D This was written for the Writer's Anonymous Comfort Zone Challenge, in which we were assigned specific genres we don't write for/we shy away from writing for. And was this ever a challenge! I certainly worked very hard on this one and found this challenge awesomely tough. This oneshot turned out to be quite long, but I hope I did this genre justice. Also, Dan is much more foul-mouthed than I can physically write, so we had to compromise. Even so, I still warn you about his mouth. 
> 
> (Originallu posted on ff.net 10/30/2010)

_Madrid, Spain_

"Perfect plans" are often known for their fatal flaws, and this was no exception. As Eames stood staring at the security camera feed before him, he knew at once that Plan A was officially in the crapper.

He cursed softly under his breath a few times, fighting off the flood of emotion that was threatening to crush him – he'd have to lock it away and feel it later; this was no time to have his personal feelings in the mix. He switched off the feed and left the room. He had to remain focused right now if he was going to get away with this.

As Eames hurried down the hotel's corridors a moment later, he couldn't help but wonder at their stupidity. Never mind that _he_ was the one posing as a security guard and keeping tabs on all the feeds, but had they forgotten already about the cameras they set up in the Ambassador's rooms? Suppose someone else came along and caught them in the act?

He rounded the corner and boarded the empty elevator within seconds, ditching his uniform at once to reveal an expensive, slim-fitting suit underneath. Eames wasn't really in the habit of forming Plan B's – ones of this particular nature, that is, as he always built a contingency plan or three into his originals.

He stepped off the elevator gracefully, straightening his tie and pasting a casually interested smile on his face. He thought idly about how long it would be before they figured out exactly what had happened and he wondered how many hours away he would be by the time they turned up at the train station.

_She won't even know what hit her,_ Eames thought.

* * *

_Three Years Later – London, England_

Eames hadn't been to his apartment (the one he actually owned) in several months. It was fairly dusty but nothing seemed out of place, though to be honest he wasn't really observing it closely. He'd been bouncing around Europe for the better part of the nine months since the Fischer job and figured his old apartment was as good a place as any to make a stop and continue to lie low.

He tossed his keys on the counter and had only gone a few steps into his sparsely furnished apartment, noting it smelled faintly of cigarettes (which was odd since he didn't smoke), when something cracked him in the back of the head with considerable force. He went sailing forward and then the edge of his expensive coffee table collided with his head just above his temple, knocking him out cold.

* * *

His head was pounding worse than the hangover he'd had after Cobb's stag when he came to. He didn't try opening his eyes for a few seconds, hoping the throbbing would subside. It didn't.

"I know you're awake, Mr. Eames." She said and her voice was unfortunately exactly how he remembered it. Just a touch deep and quite smooth – _like the lovely Rene Russo,_ he'd used to say.

"Little point in pretending then," he struggled to sit up, his hands cuffed together before him. He did his best to ignore the pain all over and in his skull. "It's been an awfully long time. To what do I owe the pleasure, Iris?"

The corner of Iris Stanhope's lips twitched slightly. They were painted a shade of red not easily forgotten. "I should think you would have guessed that by now. You're a smart man."

"Missed me, have you?" He shot her a playful smile, purposely trying to remind her of old times.

She suppressed the hint of a smile in response.

He glanced briefly at his surroundings, already noting much of it with just his peripheral vision. It seemed to be an old office or store room (or had been at one point), likely in an abandoned warehouse. Bit clichéd, but Iris had often favored clichés like that. It was an easy assumption, anyway, judging by the level of filth and the disarray of old, yellowed papers scattered across the grimy cement floor depicting in faded ink the shipping manifest of one Quintaro Express.

"I presume your boy toy is lurking nearby?" asked Eames snidely.

On cue, Dan Fields entered through the room's open door, his square face looking exceptionally smug. He was still shaved bald and ruggedly handsome, but in an off putting, red-flags-everywhere kind of way, though that was perhaps Eames' bias of him showing through.

"And how are you two getting on these days? Brilliant, I hope." Eames' tone was sweet but dripping with insincerity and sarcasm.

"Oh, wouldn't you like to know." Dan sneered. "Damn British pig, I oughta gut you right now for what you did to us."

Iris shot him a look of warning.

Eames smirked. "I take it you're still a tad bitter that I relieved you of all that hard-earned spare change in Madrid?"

"It was a lot more than spare change, scum bag." Dan bristled.

Eames didn't bother to try and deny it. Five hundred thousand from him and five hundred thousand from her. It was practically spare change compared to what he'd just made on the Fischer job from Saito, but a million dollars, of course, was still a solid chunk of money.

"Enough for you to be sufficiently shirty about, I'll give you that. I suppose you've dragged me here in order to persuade me to give it back to you? With interest too, I presume?"

"And more." Iris took a few calculated steps forward in impossibly high high-heels that elegantly matched the shade of her lips. She continued, "You didn't just screw us out of the money. You destroyed our reputations. You left us standing there in the train station, humiliated and holding that bag of flyers, conveniently just as the cops rolled up."

"We went to prison, you damn traitor!" Dan burst out.

"I'm sorry," Eames interjected coolly. " _Who's_ the traitor here?"

Dan advanced, his features purpling, but Iris held up a hand to stop him.

"Keep his leash tight, darling." Eames smiled amusedly.

"I'm going to let him have you in a minute," she warned. "If you don't stop acting like this is one big joke."

Eames sighed. "Alright, then by all means, enlighten me as to your master plan and more importantly, why I should bother to take you at all seriously."

"We want the money, Eames," she stated flatly. "All of it. It's taken us this long to track you down, but trust me, now that we've found you, you won't be getting out of this at all easily. Or alive, for that matter."

"So you had your animal clock me in the head, you hauled me to some warehouse outside of London and cuffed me so you could ask for your million dollars back, hmm?"

He didn't miss the slight twitch of her eyebrow or the way her lips pressed together just barely. Two of her tells that she'd never quite managed to hide from him.

_Ah_ , he thought. _So I_ am _in a warehouse and not far from London._

"Well, love, you've got me in a tight spot. I won't be able to get that new Aston Martin I've been eyeing, but I suppose the million is yours - "

"You misunderstood me." She cut-in abruptly. "I said _all_ of it."

It took him a quick second before he caught her meaning. It should have been obvious, he supposed. Surely they wouldn't have gone to all the trouble just for five hundred thousand each. She wanted the Fischer money too. That was the biggest paycheque he'd managed to procure since he first began conning and forging. There was no way he was going to give that up; she'd have to get very creative.

He chuckled. "Oh, is that all?"

She tilted that magnificent head of hers down just slightly to regard him. "I know you've spread it out in various accounts, so I'll need more than one number from you."

"Hmm, I'm guessing you'll have your _dog_ over there beat me up until I spill all my secrets? Rather beneath you, sweetheart, I would've expected better."

"It's been three years, Eames. There're a lot of things you don't know about me anymore." This time she lifted her chin just a touch, looking at once aristocratic and cold. "And I thought you were less naïve. We found _you_ – how hard do you think it will be to track down the rest of your team?"

He was good at hiding his thoughts and at keeping his expression neutral. Without even thinking about it, he broadcast cool disinterest at her words, but internally, he felt a trickle of fear. Her threat registered with him. She was shrewd and a bit fearless – things he'd previously quite enjoyed about her. He couldn't quite see her as being the ruthless killer type (though Dan wouldn't be a stretch, if he got riled up enough). Then again, she was right: it _had_ been three years. Three years in which he happened to not know anything about what she'd been doing with herself.

Just a quick second after she'd spoken, he opted for a casual shrug. "Fair enough. But what's it to me? You know me – I don't like attachments. I don't get involved."

"Before me," she reminded him.

* * *

_Four Years, 7 Months Earlier – Anzio, Italy_

When Eames was ascending the steps to the lobby of the Paradiso Sul Mare hotel and casino, he was busy thinking about his mark and the Giuseppe job. When he looked up the moment he'd reached the top, he wasn't thinking about anything else except the woman before him.

She was a complete stunner, looking very much like she'd stepped straight off of some ultra-chic movie set. Her lips were exquisitely red, her blonde hair meticulously curled though fairly short. Dressed in a sharp pinstriped suit, she radiated a sleekness and elegance Eames just didn't see anymore. He was immediately drawn to her, not least of all because she was now smiling at him.

"Excuse me miss, and I'm sure you've heard every line in the book, but I thought you ought to know that just a second ago, you knocked the wind right out of me."

"Is that so? Well, you don't seem so breathless now – you must have recovered quite quickly."

"I had to if I was going to come over and make a fool of myself by using such a silly, clichéd little line."

She continued smiling, still amused. "I happen to enjoy a good clichéd little line once in a while. I also happen to enjoy mimosas, theatre and libraries."

"That's perfect love, because I happen to know of a theatre right near a library. If I make your list of things you enjoy, would you be interested in having a couple of mimosas on the veranda of this lovely hotel and then visiting this theatre-beside-a-library?"

She laughed, a smooth sound that made his heart speed up just a touch. "I think I could be persuaded." She removed her large sunglasses, revealing wonderful hazel eyes and held out her hand to shake his. "I'm Iris Stanhope."

* * *

_Four Years, 7 Months Later – London, England_

_Damn her_ , Eames thought savagely.

"You remember, don't you, Eames?"

_His hands were running all over her body, through her blonde hair, and she was kissing him and whispering his name..._

He had to forcibly pull his mind away from what he knew was beneath the pale sweater and dark skirt she was wearing. He locked the images away instinctively at once, refusing to feel the emotions.

"Not really," he said coolly. "I've been with a lot of excellent women. You're hardly one in a million."

Her lips quirked into an alluring half-smile; she didn't believe him.

"For frick's sake, stop screwing each other in your heads and get on with it." Dan growled impatiently off to the side. Eames had nearly forgotten he was there.

Iris cleared her throat. To Eames, she said, "You're right, you know. I _do_ know you." As she spoke, she opened the briefcase that had been sitting on the desk turned on its side and pulled out a large syringe filled with liquid. "Who would have thought that I'd be able to put some of those mundane little details to practical use someday." She motioned to Dan.

Eames chuckled as they approached him. "Truth serum? Really, Iris. Child's play."

"Apitoxin, actually. Bee venom."

Eames froze and fear crept into him at once. He was moderately allergic to bee stings and a concentrated amount of venom like that would surely send him into anaphylaxis.

It wasn't like there was anywhere for him to go, but he tried to get away anyway. Dan held him down far too effectively, however, and Iris was able to inject venom into his arm. Eames struggled harder and Dan finally got off, but it was too late.

"Now, if I'm not mistaken," Iris backed away, swiftly replacing the syringe in the briefcase. "It's only going to be a minute or two before you're covered in hives and not breathing terribly well as your throat closes up."

He did his best to fight the panic rising in him, knowing that it wouldn't make things any better. His arm was already itching insistently and frankly he'd be lying if asphyxiation wasn't high on his list of least favorite ways to die. This was one time when his conning abilities couldn't help him one bit.

"You let me die, Iris, and you'll never see a cent of that money."

"I'm well aware of that."

His heart was racing and the itching was spreading all over his arm, creeping up his chest, becoming unbearable. It ached and burned painfully too, as if he'd really been stung by one psychotically huge bee.

"I'm not giving in to your torture – I'm not giving you my money."

She crossed her arms over her chest and examined her nails. "Let me know when you're having trouble breathing."

He was feeling lightheaded, his breath was getting shallower – had it even been a full minute? - and he was suddenly finding it difficult to swallow. His tongue was feeling thicker in his mouth and he desperately cast around for a solution. If he started fighting them, would his increased blood pressure only kill him faster? Would attempting to fight them even do any good?

Dan was watching gleefully, Iris carefully. Eames shook his head.

"Give me a reason." He spoke with a troubling amount of effort.

She held up a small plastic stick. "One account number for now, and I'll hand you this EpiPen. A gesture of good faith."

He was hoping she was bluffing, praying she hadn't become that cruel, but he was wheezing and sweating and fast approaching the moment when he wouldn't be able to speak or breathe at all. He was backed into a corner and they both knew it. He couldn't see any other way out of this one; he had to give her a number.

"0 – 2 – 3 – 5 – 7 – 9 – 3 – 3 – 4 – 6!" he shouted as clearly as he could, gasping around his swollen tongue. "Zurich – International!"

She waited a beat or two, and he was certain he would pass out and be left for dead, when she tossed him the EpiPen, uncapped. He clumsily grabbed it and jabbed it hastily into his thigh, releasing the lifesaving liquid it contained. A few tense moments later, his symptoms slowly began to subside.

"There, now was that so hard?"

* * *

_Three Years, Eleven Months Earlier – Chicago, Illinois_

"Eames? What is it?"

"Hmm?" he looked up from the maps and papers spread out on the table before him.

"You've been awfully quiet since we got back." Iris unzipped the boots she was wearing one at a time as she spoke. "And you didn't say anything during the drive, but you had that crease in your forehead you get when you're not happy about something."

"I get a _crease_?" He chuckled. "You should have told me sooner, darling, so I could take preventive measures against the aging of my handsome face." He gave her an appraising look. "By the way, have I reminded you lately how fantastic you look in women's clothes?"

"I feel better in suits and pants." She wrinkled her nose at him. "And don't try and change the subject. What's bothering you? Is it Dan?"

Eames sighed. "Look, he's your ex. I know you said that things are dead with him and he's just good muscle on a job and all that, but I remember my first love, and - "

"Dan is not my first love," she interrupted, amused at his concern. She crossed the suite and moved to stand behind him, wrapping her arms around his neck and shoulders.

"You know what I'm saying. Emotion makes things complicated. You two have history. You shouldn't be working together."

"I know you have this deep thing about attachments, Eames, but I trust him." She kissed his cheek. "He's saved my skin more than a few times. Even if he does... improvise."

"He's just... love, he's a bit of a loose cannon. I can just see so many things going wrong where he's concerned – taking things into his own hands, jumping to conclusions, that sort of thing."

She moved her lips down his neck and began unbuttoning his shirt. " _We_ have _history_ too, you know. And _emotion_."

He shut his eyes at her sensational touch.

"Does that makes things... complicated?"

He turned in his chair to face her and kissed her long and deep, his hand moving to the straps of her dress. He whispered, "Extremely."

* * *

_Three Years, Eleven Months Later – London, England_

They returned almost a full day since he'd first woken in the warehouse. He was prepared for their reaction, just not exactly how it was delivered – namely in the form of Dan's alarmingly large fist colliding with his face and splintering his nose.

"You _son_ of a – " Dan punctuated the last of his sentence with another punch, drowning out the last word.

Blood poured down Eames' front and he briefly lamented that the jacket and the shirt he was currently wearing were now ruined. He quite liked that shirt, but there was no getting such a stain out, he knew from past experience.

"What's wrong, love?" he said thickly. "Did I give you a bad number? I was under a tad bit of pressure, you see, so I may have muddled it a bit."

Iris was unimpressed. "Cute trick. Having a number that creates a lock on the account until you show up with ID and a signature to unlock it. We only made it out of there by the skin of our teeth."

"With a past like mine and friends like you, it was a necessity." Eames glared at her.

Suddenly Dan yanked his gun from behind his back and pressed the cold barrel to Eames' temple. "No more games! I want my _goddamn_ money!"

"Dan," she shook her head. "Threatening him with his own life didn't work."

Dan swore and pulled the gun away, replacing it behind his back. Eames' tense shoulders relaxed ever so slightly.

"I warned you that we could find your team. We know people and I make a couple phone calls… We'll find them and take them out, one by one until you hand over the money. You give it up now and we'll walk away – all of us. No harm done."

He spit the blood in his mouth beside him, quite resenting the "no harm done". "And what's to say if I hand you the money oh-so-co-operatively, you don't turn around and kill my team and I anyway?"

She moved to stand directly before him and leaned right down so her mouth was inches from his ear. Her subtle perfume was intoxicating, spinning his senses every which way – _exactly like it used to_.

"You don't," she whispered, sending goose bumps rocketing all over his body. "You're going to have to trust me." She straightened and created distance between them again.

He swallowed down the blender of emotions she'd roused in him and snapped, "Excuse me if I don't. I'm not the one who was screwed first last time, if I recall."

Her pale cheeks colored slightly and her eyes darted away for just a split second before she was back to her stony expression from before. Could that have been guilt he'd just seen? Regret? He certainly hoped so. Not only did he selfishly hope she truly regretted her betrayal of him, but guilt was something he could potentially work with.

"Just give me the account numbers, Eames, it's easy."

He sighed. "It's never easy with you, Iris."

She pressed her lips together and looked at him pleadingly. He stared her down and said nothing.

She abruptly seemed genuinely saddened as she broke eye contact with him. "Very well. If that's the way you want to play this, I'll have to prove to you I'm not bluffing. Again."

Iris scooped up her briefcase and left. Dan followed after a well-aimed spit in Eames' direction.

"Delightful." He grumbled once the door was shut behind them and the lights were switched off, leaving him in the dark.

* * *

_Three Years, Three Months Earlier – Miami, Florida_

She was staring at the ceiling, her fingers idly twirling her hair, as she often was the night before they completed a job. "You know, I only noticed it today," she said thoughtfully.

"Noticed what, love?" Eames slurred, having been almost asleep.

She turned her head to look at him fondly. "It doesn't matter what character you're playing or what name you're using, but when something _really_ pisses you off, you clench your jaw and you narrow your eyes a touch."

"That so?"

She smiled. "I only see it because I've worked so many jobs with you, but you did it today with Lowell."

Eames groaned. "He was getting off with his new assistant – it just adds so many levels of complication to tomorrow."

"You'll figure it out." She moved closer to him, draping her arm over his stomach. "You always do."

* * *

_Three Years, Three Months Later – London, England_

They left him there all night and well into the following day. He dozed fitfully from time to time and tried to ignore how hungry he was or how dry his mouth had become. What he wouldn't give for a good scotch right about now. Or even a crappy one. Bloody hell, even water would do, he supposed.

Though usually a comfort, the totem that hung on a slim chain around his neck beneath his layers of clothes only served to remind him that this was in fact all real. A solid metal disc that he'd modified to look exactly like a regular poker chip, he knew if it felt cold, too heavy, too light or just _off_ in some indescribable way, he was dreaming. He was quite aware of it now; this was all, unfortunately, quite real.

He passed the time attempting to extricate himself from the handcuffs secured around his wrists and making them raw. He'd escaped from them before, but currently he had no wire or pin of any kind in which to pick the lock. Crawling around on hands and knees in the dark looking for something to use only earned him a few painful bumps on the head from running into the overturned desk or the wall when he wasn't careful enough. He was only going to break his thumb if he was _really_ desperate. He hated the healing process.

He also passed the time trying (and failing) not to dwell on Iris and his history with her. It didn't matter that he'd bought a ring, or that he had been planning to slip it on her slender finger when they were enjoying victory champagne on the train to Barcelona. Or that the expensive ring was now resting somewhere at the bottom of Lake Starnberg in Germany.

It was all in the past and Eames was not one to dredge up the past, especially where Iris was concerned.

* * *

They finally came back, and she was wearing a satin blue blouse that clung to her curves. In her hands was a plain envelope. Dan was unsuccessfully masking extreme satisfaction while Iris looked unusually grim.

"I warned you, didn't I Eames?"

"About your treachery? No love, you most certainly did not." Eames replied.

Dan cracked his knuckles threatening, clearly eager to use them on the Brit again.

Eames regarded the larger man. "You're rather like a one-trick-pony, aren't you? There _are_ other ways to hurt a person."

"Oh, we know," said Iris. "If you recall, I warned you about what would happen to your team, should you choose not to co-operate."

His stomach clenched as she slowly pulled a photograph from the envelope in her hand. He dreaded to see who had died on his account and wondered at once if this could somehow be a set-up, if she could _possibly_ be bluffing, if somehow he really was dreaming despite the weight of his totem…

She gave the photo a little flick so it swivelled and fluttered to a stop on the floor before Eames. For a split second he didn't register what he was looking at and then his breath became stuck in his chest. It was Arthur, three neat bullet holes to the chest. He was sprawled on a white lawn chair in what Eames immediately recognized as the Paris workshop from the Fischer job.

He clenched his jaw – _lock it away, lock it away, lock it away!_ – and turned his head so he couldn't see it anymore, trying to think of how in the world his friend was worth the Fischer money. He shut his eyes tight but it didn't help; the image was burned to his memory and floating behind his eyelids.

Then she produced the red die, tossing it so it landed with a few soft clicks near Eames. He stared at the die, frozen. Hope that the photo was doctored fizzled immediately. Slowly, almost jerkily, he reached for the die and gave it a few shaky rolls, fighting to contain his emotions.

Iris and Dan watched him carefully, determining his reaction. After a few extended moments, Eames took a shuddering breath.

"Alright," he murmured. "Alright."

"You'll do it? You'll give us the money?"

"Just give me a piece of paper and pen, darling." He turned sorrowful eyes to her and she shifted her glance away, visibly uncomfortable. She left briskly.

"Your boyfriend Arthur did the trick, then, eh?" Dan's laugh sounded like a dog barking. "Shoulda done that sooner."

"Oh, _do_ piss off, you pathetic, irritating, _waste_ of – "

The larger man advanced swiftly and cut off the rest of Eames' sentence with a smashing fist to the side of his head, then added a sharp kick to the Brit's ribs for good measure. Eames buckled sideways, trying to recover the wind that had been knocked out of him.

"Dan, stop!" Iris demanded, standing in the doorway with a paper and pen. "He already agreed to help us."

"Relax, Iris. We were just having a bit of fun, weren't we Eames?"

Eames struggled back into a sitting position. "Oh, _loads_." He snapped, shooting an angry glare at Iris' hired muscle who smirked.

Iris knelt before Eames, carefully setting the paper over the photo of a murdered Arthur and pressing a pen into Eames' cuffed hands slowly.

"Thank you," she said softly, almost intimately.

He met her hazel eyes with his own gray-green ones, and hated the way that even after all these years he still felt connected to her. He couldn't help but wonder if it'd be easier for him to come up with an escape plan of sorts if she wasn't there clouding the emotions he normally was able to hold onto without any effort.

_You'll figure it out. You always do._

She stood, taking a few steps back and he was beginning to realize he was in a very dangerous situation with no way out. Maybe if they left him alone, he could take apart the pen and use its parts to pick open his handcuffs…

"The account numbers," Iris said impatiently. "Now, Eames. We don't have all day."

He bowed his head dutifully as if actually writing numbers down on the paper.

To Dan, she pulled him into a tight embrace and said, "We've done it, Dan! We're finally going to get it all back!"

Dan pulled back slightly to kiss Iris deeply though she seemed embarrassed and ended it quite quickly. Her cheeks were flushed and she couldn't seem to meet Eames' eyes, who made a loud noise of disgust, and Dan suddenly had a look of suspicion in his wild eyes.

"Shut up," he growled dangerously and pulled his gun out again, levelling it at Eames. "Get writing, scum bag."

"Or what, you'll shoot me? Not much motivation for me to hurry, is it darling?"

Dan cocked the gun and came closer, towering over Eames in a significantly menacing fashion even without the weapon in his hand. He certainly was not messing around.

"Alright, don't get your knickers in a twist." Eames began writing down account numbers from memory. He could never decide if it was a good thing or bad thing that he seemed to be able to memorize numbers so easily. Depended on the situation, he supposed.

Dan turned his attention to Iris once he saw actual ink appearing on the paper. "This is a crazy amount of money, Iris, and if you're even thinking of trying to screw me on this, I _swear_ to – I will _end_ you, right now."

"Charming, as always." Eames mumbled under his breath.

"Of course not Dan." She chuckled as if his threat were a little inside joke. "We're in this together – how could you think such a thing? We've always been in this together." She smiled widely, her best enrapturing smile.

He didn't seem completely convinced, but was willing to side with her for the moment.

_Unstable tosser,_ Eames thought angrily. _Boggles the mind how someone as sharp as her stuck with someone as hard-headed and reckless as him._

"You can take your little paper and make me completely penniless now." He finished the last set of numbers with a swirling flourish. "Would you like the clothes off my back as well? My broken Rolex? Thanks for that, by the way, those are cheap. First born child, perhaps?"

Dan sneered and raised his gun for the kill. "You wrecked three years of my life, you smartass British trash. It ends now."

Everything went very quickly from that moment. Iris, seeing that her boyfriend was deadly serious, protested too quickly and too passionately, while Eames tried to desperately to find an escape route and do it without drawing Dan or Iris' attention.

"Dan, _wait!_ Stop, what are you doing?"

"Typing up loose ends. This filthy pig humiliated us and we've come back to return the favour."

"But we agreed – "

"I'm not making the same mistake he did."

"Please, if they're fake numbers, and we kill him – "

"They're not fake, love, I promise you and – "

"Shut up! We're _done_!"

Eames had decided that the pen in his hand would have to do as his weapon of choice, especially since it was unfortunately too thick to pick the lock on his cuffs after all.

Iris moved between Dan's gun and Eames, hands up pleadingly. "Dan, no, put the gun down, let's go, let's leave him, let's just – "

" _Dammit_ Iris! You still love him, don't you?"

Eames tried to ignore the surprise he felt at Iris' sudden defense of him. Perhaps he wasn't the only one with residual feelings.

She hesitated for a second too long, and Dan's uneasy temperament immediately had him jumping to conclusions.

_"Bitch!_ "

The gun went off twice, Iris screamed, Eames was on his feet and colliding with Dan, trying to stab him with the pen still in his hand, which was made an immensely more difficult by the fact that he was still cuffed. The gun skidded across the floor and the two men punched, kicked and slammed each other around. Eames managed to gouge the other man in the throat with the pen but then was thrown backwards forcibly enough that his head cracked on the cement floor and he lost his only weapon. Dan sputtered and lunged, Eames saw stars, his opponent cursed and wailed on Eames, the Brit landed a solid double fisted blow to the other man's right ear, while Dan retaliated just as quickly with a meaty elbow to Eames' jaw. Dan repeatedly used Eames' disadvantage against him by hitting places he couldn't properly defend against and by grabbing the cuffs and using them as leverage. Eames tried to scramble for the gun but Dan was having none of it. The Brit was quicker and arguably better at hand-to-hand combat, even when cuffed, but Dan was a whole lot bigger and he wasn't cuffed.

Eames went flying, crashing head long into the desk. He tried to get up quickly and shake off the blow which had him dazed, but Dan had already reached the gun. He laughed and looked quite demonic with blood streaming in trails down his face and neck, large teeth bared in a malevolent grin.

"Here's to early retirement, you bastard." He squeezed the trigger.

* * *

_Two Years, Ten Months Earlier – Munich, Germany_

Eames raised his head slowly, his eyes struggling to focus on the man who'd entered his dark and uncharacteristically messy hotel room.

"How'd you find me?"

Cobb shrugged. "Arthur."

The Brit nodded and downed some more gin. Cobb waited.

"Tell me," Eames slurred. "If you found out that Mal was some… _mercenary_ who worms her way into people's lives only to rob them for everything they have and leave them in the dust," he shook his head and his tone became immensely more bitter. "And that she was… _cheating_ on you, what would _you_ do?"

_This is why I had the rule. This is why I never get involved,_ he thought as he emptied the bottle in his hands.

Cobb settled beside his friend on the suite's expensive couch.

"Oh God," Eames swiped at the moisture in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Cobb murmured sadly.

* * *

_Two Years, Ten Months Later – London, England_

Eames blinked and dared not breathe for a moment. Dan's eyes dropped in confusion to the spot where blood was rapidly blooming on his chest. Eames glanced down but saw nothing concerning. Dan fell forward, collapsing in a heap, and Eames, still shaking and panting now that his breath was coming back, met the eyes of the man in the doorway.

"Well, it's about bloody time," he exhaled, pretending to be less relieved than he actually felt.

" _Sorry_ ," said Arthur. "But the trail was not an easy one to follow." He kept his gun trained on Dan's still form as a precaution as Eames rushed to Iris' side.

"Will…" her lips trembled and it wasn't just her lipstick that made them red now.

He shushed her gently and cradled her in his lap, sadly noting how much blood covered her front from the pair of wounds, contrasting with the blue of her blouse.

"It was… always you," she struggled to speak. "I… trying to cut out Dan… the beginning," she spluttered and mumbled, making it difficult to catch every word. "Madrid job… was always you," she coughed and whimpered and he stroked her hair. "Was never… to let you die… told you to trust me…"

He caressed her cheek with his thumb softly and thought briefly of the first time he'd seen her. _A complete stunner, a masterpiece stepping off a movie set, the kind of elegance and sleekness he simply didn't see anymore…_

_She held out her hand for him to shake. "Iris Stanhope."_

_He didn't know why he did it, but he shook her hand right back and gave her his name – his real name. "William Eames."_

"I love you… Will, please," she murmured as tears made tracks down her fair face. "Believe me… please believe me…"

"Of course I do, darling," he kissed her forehead. "Of course I do."

Only a moment later, her eyes glassed over and he knew he was never going to see that smile of hers again.

His chest was tight with mixed emotions as he tenderly shut her eyes and lay her limp form down before standing up. Arthur had retrieved the key to the handcuffs from the floor and without a word, Eames raised his still cuffed hands so Arthur could unlock them.

"I'm sorry," the Point Man said.

Eames refused to look at him and blinked a bit more than was normal.

Arthur tossed the cuffs aside and Eames rubbed his wrists.

"Did you want to talk about it?"

"You know I don't talk about anything." He answered quietly. "Least of all my past. Least of all _her_." He started for the door.

"Look if you need a moment…" Arthur trailed off then added, "I know you loved her."

Eames stopped and glanced back at Iris' still form. He hesitated then said sadly, "I'd like to believe she was telling the truth."

"I know."

Eames shook his head and left the little room. _Lock it away, lock it away…_

He began making his way across the emptiness of the warehouse's main hangar, hating the way his footsteps echoed. Arthur caught up to him in a few quick strides. Though Eames could tell his friend wanted more details, Eames hardly felt like giving them. At least, not until he was in control of his emotions again, completely compartmentalized, having put all his pain away for a rainy day with a few bottles of scotch (or gin, vodka… whatever was handy, really). He was good at forcing his emotions into a box, though it'd always been harder with her. He appreciated the Point Man's continued silence more than he could say.

They climbed into Arthur's bland black sedan and it wasn't until they'd exited onto the motorway heading towards London that Eames finally broke the silence.

"So, now will you please explain to me why it took you several days to find me?"

Arthur smirked, noting at once his friend was "back to normal" and refusing to be emotional a moment longer. Typical.

"I think _several_ is an exaggeration." He replied.

"Is it? Well, let's lock you up and torture you with bee venom and phony photographs and see how well you keep track of time. Sodding idiot broke my father's watch."

"How'd you guess it was fake?"

"Because you, my dear boy, were in Montenegro finding us a new Extractor and that picture is a doctored one, taken when we were still working on the Fischer job. Yusuf?"

"Saito, actually. I thought it looked pretty realistic – they certainly thought so."

"The die was a nice touch, I'll admit, but it wasn't loaded, so that was quite obvious."

"Are you telling me you didn't buy it at all, even for a second?"

"Not even a second." A flat out lie, as truly it'd been a good torturous minute before he'd put the pieces of the picture together in a way Iris and Dan wouldn't and worked out it was fake. He'd also had to roll the die a few times, still fearing the picture was in fact true.

Arthur smiled. "Liar. You _were_ worried I was dead."

"Although the world could use less sticks-in-the-mud with no imagination, you're far too difficult to be offed by a few measly bullets, so no, I wasn't worried."

"While I appreciate the weird back-handed compliment, it's alright to admit that you were, you know." He continued smiling, satisfied with his friend's response.

Eames shook him off in irritation. "It hardly matters anyway. While you were busy doctoring photos and flitting about Montenegro, I was busy getting my nose broken, amongst other lovely things, which brings me back to my original issue of why it took you so bloody long?"

"Well, I had to get here first, obviously. And you're just lucky you didn't have the chance to clean that apartment of yours, because Iris left her designer high heeled shoe prints in the dust and Dan enjoyed a couple of cigarettes while they waited for you. Not to mention – "

"Alright, stop gloating, I know you're a Point Man and therefore obsessively enamoured with details."

"You asked." Arthur glanced at his friend who was trying to wipe his face on his dirty jacket sleeves unsuccessfully. Taking pity on the Brit, he pulled out his handkerchief and passed it over.

"I didn't need every single flowery detail," he complained as he took the handkerchief and dabbed gingerly at his bloody lips and face. "Now, I know I'm quite dreadful to behold at this moment, no thanks to you, I might add, and your total lack of haste – "

"You could just say thank you."

"But I haven't had anything to eat or drink in an exorbitant number of hours. Anything will do – even fast food."

Just shy of fifteen minutes later, they pulled into a Burger King where Arthur paid for the food since Eames had no wallet on him.

Finally, after several moments of silence where Arthur munched and Eames inhaled, Eames was again the one to break the quiet between them.

"Thank you." He murmured.

Arthur knew he wasn't simply referring to the meal before them.

"You're welcome Eames." He said.

A beat.

" _Bee_ venom?"

**-end-**


End file.
